


Thicker Than Water

by Punk_Kenobi



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Bloodbending, Gen, Precognition, Psychometry, Superpowers AU(?), Torture, Wings/Flying, You don't normally find things like this in Cabin Pressure fic, mentions of abuse, mentions of gore, what even is this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-23
Updated: 2013-09-23
Packaged: 2017-12-27 10:19:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/977608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Punk_Kenobi/pseuds/Punk_Kenobi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So this is for the Let's Create Cabin Pressure prompt over on Tumblr, "On a day off, Carolyn, Martin, Douglas, and Arthur all have separate adventures be them good, bad, or ugly. Then they reunite for a normal day of standby at Fitton Air Field." Not really sure if it fits the prompt exactly, but whatever. Insert creative license thing here.</p>
<p>I tried very, very hard to give them all equal coverage, but I always feel like Douglas' part is the most emphasized. Sorry if that doesn't float your boat, I love the dude but I really did put a lot of thought into the rest of them as well, I promise. Perhaps it's just my preferences that shine brightest, I suppose. Also, lame and uninspired title is lame. It's three AM and I'm three-fourths asleep, I can't be held responsible.</p>
<p>Also, I intentionally spread their knowledge of one another out inconsistently, due to the mental powers giving certain characters advantages over others.</p>
<p>In any case, I spent nearly three weeks on this and I'm still not entirely happy with it. Hope you guys like it!</p>
    </blockquote>





	Thicker Than Water

**Author's Note:**

> So this is for the Let's Create Cabin Pressure prompt over on Tumblr, "On a day off, Carolyn, Martin, Douglas, and Arthur all have separate adventures be them good, bad, or ugly. Then they reunite for a normal day of standby at Fitton Air Field." Not really sure if it fits the prompt exactly, but whatever. Insert creative license thing here.
> 
> I tried very, very hard to give them all equal coverage, but I always feel like Douglas' part is the most emphasized. Sorry if that doesn't float your boat, I love the dude but I really did put a lot of thought into the rest of them as well, I promise. Perhaps it's just my preferences that shine brightest, I suppose. Also, lame and uninspired title is lame. It's three AM and I'm three-fourths asleep, I can't be held responsible.
> 
> Also, I intentionally spread their knowledge of one another out inconsistently, due to the mental powers giving certain characters advantages over others.
> 
> In any case, I spent nearly three weeks on this and I'm still not entirely happy with it. Hope you guys like it!

It was easy enough to get away with it it. Arthur was smarter than anyone ever gave him credit for, he merely was too scatterbrained to put that intelligence to efficient and practical use. The Ritalin and other medications he'd been forced to take in his early years were marginally effective in his adulthood, having been more or less a zombie from the ages of fourteen to seventeen before Mum took him off them, so he rarely took them anymore. Arthur quickly found he could use his brain for more than trivial, trip by trip knowledge once he became motivated enough. Books suddenly made sense and were infinitely easier to focus on, so he pored over tomes about all matters of things late at night under his blankets with a flashlight, while during the day he played the fool people thought he was, serving drinks and often dropping them with awkward cheeriness.

 

Plus, there was the fact that he knew things people didn't. Mainly because they hadn't happened yet.

 

Douglas and Avery didn't know initially and the repetitions of "clot, "idiot features," and various other synonymous names took a toll on his nerves. After snapping at Mr. Windsor, one of their occasionally recurring passengers, the rest of MJN had their suspicions. Still, they let his outburst slide with smiles and waved off the incident without a second thought, though Avery, their captain, looked surprised and snorted with derision, making some offhanded comment Arthur heard about him finally "having some guts." Why was he looking like that? Avery was going to leave soon, he already knew that, but now he was laughing at him, too? He'd have to make sure he left for good.

_The visions he'd seen proved to be true once more, so it wasn't entirely surprising nor was it entirely Arthur's conscious doing when he found himself with a fire extinguisher in his hand, the bottom dripping with blood and viscera from the man's skull. Fire extinguishers made good weapons because no one thought they were weapons but they could be, so that was why he used one. He only remembered parts of it, lost in a haze of red._

_"Stop calling me a clot."_

_"Why not? It's exactly what you are, might as well call a spade a spade."_

_"You don't know me. I know you won't be with us much longer."_

_"Oh really? And how do you know that?"_

_"Want to find out?"_

_He didn't feel nearly as not brilliant as he should have been feeling. In fact, he was smiling as he dragged the corpse away, humming quietly to himself, apparently having donned gloves and other protective garments beforehand. He was so smart, he covered his tracks without knowing it. Brilliant! The rest of the process was a haze, but that didn't matter. He still felt as brilliant as he normally did. Better than brilliant, maybe, because he finally made sure at least one person wouldn't call him stupid anymore. Someone had to make Avery stop and then they'd be home and no one would be any the wiser._

When fingers started pointing two days later, none of them were aimed at Arthur. Why would they be? No one suspects a simple-minded clot of murder, he'd made sure Avery's disappearance was covered up with the resignation papers he'd already submitted to Mum the day before. Everyone would think he was simply gone, ran off in France and skipped out mid-trip to his new position he'd been bragging about for ages. 

 

  
_Stupid prick,_ he thought to himself with a chuckle as he burned his favorite cravat out back behind GERT-I's hangar the night they arrived back in Fitton, having hid it in his bag the entire trip home. Blood was devilishly hard to remove from silk, after all, so burning was the best idea. Good thing his uniform was red and not silk, though, that would be easier to clean. Maybe Mum would help him with it when he got home. He could say it was a nosebleed, he'd gotten those many times before.

 

Besides, Mum and Douglas would help him if the authorities did start getting suspicious. They were both brilliant, and Douglas could fix anything if Mum couldn't. He'd seen both of their futures. They were both really happy and while the details weren't clear, he knew enough that they would both be in relationships soon enough. Douglas would get a new one, not with Helena, but he didn't figure it would be right to tell Douglas that. Mum told him early on that telling people about their futures wasn't a smart thing to do.  Hopefully she'd seen it too, so he wouldn't have to keep it to himself. Still, he could see enough that Douglas would be with a man. Brilliant! Love was love in his mind, didn't really matter who with. He'd have to congratulate them, it was so nice to see two people get together. He hadn't been at he and Helena's wedding, but Douglas was positively beaming the entire week beforehand when he wasn't worrying over details. Apparently he did that more than Helena did, from what he'd heard.

 

Mum would be with a man, too, predictably. Arthur couldn't tell much but he knew they would argue. Still, it didn't seem like the arguing Mum and Dad had done, happy arguing like when Douglas and Mum insulted each other. They didn't mean it really, it was all in fun. He was happy that they would be happy. The one future he couldn't read was his own, and he liked to think it was better that way. There has to be some surprise in life, otherwise everything would be boring.

 

\--------

 

Carolyn knew how to swindle prices for her passengers, she knew exactly what to say to get them to acquiesce at the highest possible price. She and Douglas were similar in that respect, though he was just a petty thief and a smarmy bastard while she was applying her own special brand of business strategy. If that meant uncovering secrets these CFOs and CEOs had that would ruin their businesses, that was just playing her cards right in her own business' favor. Oh, it was simple enough, she just used her sense of hearing and she knew all she wanted to know about someone. The sound of their voice? She knew where their hometown was and every drama-filled confrontation they'd been in there. Just like Douglas, she had connections, she knew who to talk to if she needed someone taken down a peg. Most played right into her hands, people were surprisingly acquiescent where a secret lover or use of drugs or shady business deals were concerned. A bit much to gain funds for MJN, but they were in a dog-eat-dog profession, one does what's necessary to survive.

 

Her first client ever had been a serial adulterer. Her next had been a meth addict. Each and every man and woman that came into her office had some secret to hide. She knew about them as soon as they opened their mouths. Sometimes it was taxing going an entire day with everyone's personal history up for grabs. She'd taken to carrying around aspirin and sound-cancelling headphones with her iPhone just to get some peace and quiet from the deluge of background info on people she didn't need, especially on longer flights with more people. Recorded music vocals and TV shows didn't give her every musician or actor's life story, so it was the one refuge she had in her day to day existence. And people wondered why she was so grumpy all the time. She'd known Gordon's entire history when she first met him, though she obviously went through the typical rituals of talking about oneself and their background anyway, just as she had with her other exes. She didn't know what had ultimately broken their relationship, though, and Arthur only belatedly told her about it. She never really knew how Gordon had hid that information, but she suspected he'd had some sort of psychic ability. He certainly had the mix of pathokinesis and neurokinesis that was dangerous but she hadn't learned that until it was too late.

 

Douglas was another story. Oh, when Avery started at MJN there wasn't much notable about him. Hell, he only had a third eye on his forehead, all it did was help him see the skies better. Some people didn't have any powers at all and that was alright, they weren't treated better or worse. Some had powers they never discussed or told others about, whether it was out of self-consciousness or they felt their powers were too dangerous to have in public. Douglas was one of the latter. Carolyn had seen everything as soon as he'd opened his mouth, the times he'd manipulated his friends in primary school to get them to do his homework to the times he'd killed and tortured in a haze of alcohol and rage. She even knew about the incident that had caused such outbursts, though that was deeply hidden and only flashes of it popped into her mind, bright and so very emotional. She never said anything, as she knew he was hiding it from public knowledge, but she did tell Arthur not to anger the man and did make sure that his alcoholism was taken care of, telling him of how she knew once he was stable. Seeing him in the rehab facility was painful, knowing he kept his hands absolutely rigid when they weren't shaking or when he wasn't playing the piano, the only time his orchestrated hand movements didn't cause chaos. Over time, she'd helped him get back on his feet with little fear of his power, and he was once again a functioning member of society, albeit with an ego far too large for that already big head of his.  

 

Still, nothing beat coming home with Arthur, having a cuppa and putting her feet up, Grey's Anatomy droning quietly on in the background and Candy Crush on her iPad, knowing she had completed a good day's work. That wasn't the case tonight. Arthur told her he'd be home late and taking his own car back. Carolyn didn't miss the look in his eyes, she knew what was going on. She'd seen that look before, the one Douglas wore when he was beyond enraged. She knew about the incident with Rachel's new fiancee, she knew just how dangerous the man could get, and Arthur was no different. As smart as her boy was, he was horribly transparent.

 

_He'd come home from school crying again. The sight was one of the most painful things she'd ever see as she hugged Arthur tight and asked what was wrong. She already knew, of course, but her boy wasn't quite old enough to understand the idea that she did. He barely understood what it meant when he'd see people dying in his mind and she'd have to explain that there was nothing he could do. Maybe that's why he loved helping in school and at home a lot._

 

_"Kids don't like me and their mummies and daddies don't do anything. Oliver even hit me today with his extra arm while we were on the way home and his parents saw everything!"_

 

_He pointed to a bruise on his arm but she only noticed the other ones. "And where did these come from?"_

 

_Arthur shook his head and shrugged, wiping his eyes with his arm. "I just fell over a hole in the sidewalk. I knew you were gonna ask, Mummy, I saw it. I don't want to tell you."_

 

_"Why not?"_

_"I just don't. They don't hurt, so it's okay."_

 

_Those weren't bruises from a sidewalk, that much she knew. Where they were coming from and why they were on his legs, too, was something she would have to find out._

 

_There would be hell to pay. No one hurts her son and gets away with it. All she had to do was hear their voice and they'd be screwed._

 

_When she heard the voice, though, there wasn't anyone or anything holding her back. Blood was spilled that day, though most of it was forgotten, and everyone in the vicinity knew not to mess with Carolyn Knapp-Shappey, especially when it came to the safety of her son. No one knew just how good a right hook she could throw._

 

As usual, she'd have to deal with the fallout that he'd missed but it was all a matter of keeping her son's actions under the radar. He'd be the target of so many in prison he wouldn't stand a chance, and his visions would only serve as an insanity plea even though Carolyn knew her son was nothing but sane. She'd keep him out of there to the best of her ability, and hey, Avery had really gotten on her nerves with his constant whining about how lousy his pay was and how terrible the rest of them were. Someone had to shut that idiot up, might as well have been her own son. Glad to know he did get some of her disposition. Maybe she'd wrangle Douglas into covering for Arthur, she was admittedly too lazy to do it at the moment and she knew he had nothing going on. She heard Helena's voice when Douglas was talking to her over the satcom, something she'd chastised him about on several occasions but which he steadfastly ignored, instead pressing on with that increasingly smarmy tone of voice he used when, she assumed, he was trying to be romantic and not a bad Casanova copy.

 

Carolyn couldn't get everything from a phone conversation, as it was one step above recordings, but she heard enough to know that Helena wasn't just going to another Tai Chi class after work and that her absence tonight wasn't with friends as she'd said. She didn't have the heart to tell the man, though, not after what she'd seen years ago.

 

Ignorance is bliss, after all, not that she would ever know how it felt. At least she could afford him the privilege.

 

\-------

 

Douglas was never a physical fighter by nature. Sure, he had a rather bulky frame perfect for his unofficial rugby team in uni and could easily maim if necessary, but he preferred to get into the mind of his target and get them to do as he pleased with sweet words or even a nice smile...or disregard pleasantries altogether and manipulate the blood that ran through their veins instead. Even if he never lifted a finger, Douglas could rid himself of enemies within weeks with his own persuasion. In other situations, it was quick and efficient, and he only had to use simple finger movements to achieve his goals. And rarely he had to use his blunt force beforehand. If he was honest with himself, the few times he did he loved it because it was entirely warranted. There was something about being able to hurt a man deserving of it from the inside as well as the outside that felt amazing. Douglas never cared as to how he'd gotten the power, he'd given up searching for unknown answers in his teens. Every full moon he was at his strongest, that much was for sure. Most times he could only torture, but he had been able to kill the few times he'd used his power at night when the moon was at its strongest. All unintentional, of course, but he knew he couldn't toss it around like it was nothing more than a parlor trick. Not anymore.

 

_Hannah wanted to see him manipulate blood. Simple enough, she was a Richardson. Everyone of the Richardson line had strength to them and some sort of power to show for it. Hannah could conjure fire, something Rachel had never seen nor would have approved of. He and Hannah vowed early on not to show her their powers once Hannah's had manifested around six. Still, he was proud, as fire conjuring was a noble power, one which once controlled could be very useful._

 

_The sound of her screams..._

 

_It was an accident, a slip in his control that he'd built up so proudly. He'd been gently manipulating a small newt they found in their garden, as he was able to use his power without pain to the receiver, so he made it walk around in circles just as a simple demonstration. One slip of his hand, though, one small flick of the wrist....and Hannah cried out as her arm jerked backward at an angle unnatural for the human body. Every movement of his hands and she'd contorted in ways no one should move, much less his beloved daughter, and he frantically tried to stop but any subtle movements made her shriek, high and keening, and he'd hoped the neighbors weren't around. He'd tried to do damage control but the backyard ended up on fire, Hannah hid from him the entire day and Rachel vowed that she'd never be in his care again once she got home and learned of their abilities. She herself had no powers to speak of, so the thought of sharing a household with both a child who was essentially a pyromaniac and a potential arsonist and a man who could play with the blood in a person's body like some twisted puppeteer was too much._

 

_The look in Hannah's eyes as Rachel forced him out the door spoke volumes, ones he never wanted to hear nor see. She didn't blame him. She knew powers were sometimes hard to control if her occasional singed curtains or ash-covered carpets were any indication. That didn't mean they weren't horrifying...that he was a monster in sheep's clothing. She looked at him as a monster, one she wanted to be close to so badly but couldn't be. She didn't want to be hurt again._

 

_He understood her pain soon enough._

 

After that, he had forced himself into social and emotional isolation. He'd even practiced his talents on his own body at times between looking for a new house and a new job, having been fired and having nothing else to do. Those times he'd nearly died, as controlling one's own body was highly risky, one gesture being able to reroute the blood to keep it away from the heart or have it flood the brain. He couldn't find it in himself to care, though. He was a monster, it was only fair he should tame the feral beast inside him, and how else did he punish those who deserved it? 

 

Some people did. If he saw men who disgraced women on the streets, he'd sneakily follow them and then cloister the men in alleys and torture them until they were effectively castrated. Those who abused children, men or women, they too would be subject to his frightening power. Granted, he was almost always drunk when these sorts of things occurred, it was the only time his hands didn't shake and have the possibility of hurting those who were innocent. He made sure he was drunk in public, not enough to be entirely non-functioning, just enough to have his hands still. They had to be at the helm of an airplane, where he could hurt dozens with shaky hands not even from his power. Night was when he let himself fall into the bottle, truly, and his most dangerous time. He was always stronger at night. Nights were when he would drown out memories that haunted him and gave him nothing but a numbness that somehow felt more comforting than any embrace he could get. Nights were also when he struck those he had personal ties to that needed to be taken care of.

 

_No one messes with his daughter._

 

_He'd been drinking that night, as well as every other. This man, the man Hannah had to call Father now instead of himself, had hit her. He yelled at her, all in public, too. He'd heard via a good neighbor of his from where he used to call home and still thought he was a good man. He knew where the man lived, it was only a matter of weeding him out like prey. His memory failed him about how he'd ended up here but, out of the influence of cheap vodka and an excess of testosterone and adrenaline, he found himself with the man laying on the ground in an alley. He was groaning low and holding his kneecaps, which had been shattered so he couldn't run, though the break to the lower end of his spine took care of that anyway. He knew the man couldn't feel his legs at all. A couple of flicks of the wrist and the man was floating a few inches off the ground like a puppet, face shining with tears in the light of the full moon. He laughed mirthlessly as he made him contort in all sorts of ways, the shrieks muffled by the makeshift gag, remembering the irony belatedly. Oh, but this was a person who deserved it, someone who hurt the innocent. In a way, the parallel could be a repentance, an eye for an eye. Grinning maniacally, he got up in the man's face._

 

_"I would kill you here, whimpering like a fucking animal and as helpless as a newborn child simply by stopping your heart, but how can one stop a heart that's made of stone? You're not getting out of this alive, you unforgivable sod."_

 

_Holding him in place, he took out a knife from its sheath and pondered it, chuckling as he clenched his fingers and made the man scream as he contorted and writhed. There were a few moments of quiet thought, the man passing in and out of consciousness. Whatever._

 

_Inhale, pause, exhale. Every breath was precious._

 

_The man had given him a pleading look, whining around the obstruction. Smiling, he merely snapped his fingers and the man's fingers snapped as well, broken and dislocated. A muffled shriek erupted and he had to force the man's face into the grit of the brick wall behind him, shoving the knife into his mangled hand._

 

_"Quiet, or I'll kill you myself here and now."_

 

_This was the truly fun way to make the man pay for what he did. The glint of light from the streetlamps playing off the blood that sprayed from the man's throat brightened his mood immeasurably, especially when he'd made the man cut his throat by his own hand like a marionette. Perhaps he could even find all the criminals he could and make them dance for him in a morbid ball once they perished under his hands, _his own personal Danse Macabre.__

_He played with the blood a bit to see it sparkle in the moonlight, power thrumming through his veins like heroin, an intoxicating feeling completely different from the alcohol rushing through those same veins. Full moons were his favorite time of the month in recent times. Playing with the knife, he considered his options. He could end his own life right here and now just as easily, having had just intentionally killed a man....no. He had to protect Hannah. He had to do so from the shadows, yes, but if he wasn't here, no one would be there for her. He would be just as cowardly as the man laying on the dirt in front of him. Act like it never happened, then. That was the best course of action. He was adept at denying reality, otherwise why would he be the man he was today?_

 

_Blood wasn't much thicker than water in men like him. In any case, it felt all the same as he finally let the blood floating in the light spill onto the ground once he was far from the scene._

 

The friendship he and Carolyn shared when he first arrived at MJN was nonexistent, Carolyn being a shrewd and calculating hawk of a woman who came the closest to matching his penchant for sly and underhanded tactics and her son being an utter idiot with something not quite right about him. He himself was very standoffish at first, his mood soured by drink and days gone by. When Carolyn decided having her pilot go through rehab, paid out of her own rather generous wealth even after he nearly crashed her plane due to his shaking hands and less than clear head and had a hand in someone's death, Douglas couldn't find it in him to be so cruel as he could have been. Carolyn, in turn, was willing to overlook his shortcomings and keep him around, if at a dirt-cheap salary and reduced rank.

 

Over time he'd grown enamored by Arthur's child-like innocence and occasional violent tendencies and Carolyn's sharp wit and entirely too personal knowledge of his life. That was why he found himself having to create an alibi for the young steward that night on his laptop instead of a quiet night with Helena. Then again, Helena wasn't around to be quiet with, she was off with her friends, being far younger than he was and more social to boot. He had to fill his time at home somehow and Arthur needed to stop being so damned stupid and do simple things like not kill people. One would have thought that he'd have learned that lesson after that incident in Istanbul. He'd had to think quickly to save Arthur's hide from that one and they'd had to stay away from Turkey altogether for months just to let the heat die down.

 

Midway through his character building, Douglas decided to do some searching on this new pilot they'd be getting. Douglas knew their outfit was a rather....unseemly sort. Avery had submitted his resignation just the other day, having co-workers with powers such as theirs was wearing on him, he knew. Weirdly enough, though, someone actually wanted to be with MJN so badly he sent in an application mere hours after the vacancy was announced. He could only hope that their next pilot would do better. Oh, he knew they'd only get another couple of months out of the next one, maybe a year at most. The only reason he himself stayed was because he had nowhere else to be and he was still too young and financially strapped to retire between his astronomical alimony payments done every month on the dot and his ridiculously low pay. Besides, it was in his best interests to keep moving, since people rarely tended to disappear these days, but it still happened occasionally. Best to keep his face a blur to those passing by. 

 

Honestly, Douglas could see why this Mr. Crieff would be joining their little entourage, no respectable airline would hire a man like him for any sort of piloting experience what with his sub-standard testing scores and the sheer number of goes for his CPL. God knows he'll have to show him a thing or two behind the control panel, he didn't seem to know the first thing about flying outside of the basic "dos and don'ts" of aviation. A foolish tool for him to train, nothing more than what Avery was before. Luckily, though, the idea of being a captain again was enticing. He could stop lying to Helena every night and finally hear the end of the mockery from his friends at the pub, he could finally feel like he was successful again.

 

That one extra bar meant a lot to him.

 

\-------

 

Martin arrived at Fitton airfield far earlier than he should have but it was better to be early than late. He didn't expect, however, to be waiting thirty minutes before Ms. Knapp-Shappey arrived with a man too cheery for the eight AM time frame they were currently in, her son from the look of it. He straightened his tie before nodding to the both of them.

 

"H-Hello, Ms. Knapp-Shappey." he stuttered, inwardly criticizing himself. That wasn't how captains were supposed to sound, was it?

 

Carolyn merely waved him off, stifling a yawn. "Morning, Martin. And for the love of god, call me Carolyn or I'll punch you. Arthur, go make us coffee, Douglas should turn up sometime this century."

 

The bouncing man nodded. "Right-o! How do you take your coffee, Skip?"

 

"Skip?" Martin asked, confused by the nickname.

 

Arthur merely smiled. "You know...skipper but short, because you're the captain and all. Not that you're short, I mean, just that you're the skipper and-"

 

Martin held up a hand in a stop gesture, as it was entirely too early for such things. "I get it. Milk, no sugar."

 

"Got it!"

 

With that, Arthur skipped off in search of coffee, leaving Martin and Carolyn in her office. Martin sat and looked at the faded faux wood paneling on the walls, playing with the hem of his suit jacket and rolling his shoulders, wincing. He should stretch more often. "Have you told Mr. Richardson that I'll be the captain?"

 

Carolyn shook her head. "Not just yet, no. He'll be displeased, to say the least, that a man of your...stature would be in command. Might as well leave it until he can't back down."

 

"My stature?" Martin frowned, he got annoyed with comments like that frequently. "What about my stature?"

 

"Well, you don't really look like a captain, to be honest, and your track record is less than savory. Not that Douglas' is any better, in fact, his is much worse. Still, you'll find he'll be a right bastard to deal with initially."

 

"Oh, for Christ's sake, I'm not short! 5'8 is a perfectly respectable male height, it's not out of the ordinary."

 

"Indeed, but compared to Douglas' less than modest 6'1" and stout frame, you're absolutely tiny." Carolyn replied, not looking up from her paperwork. "Now please, go be somewhere else. I'll talk to you about tomorrow's flight tomorrow."

 

Martin huffed and left her office. Why was everyone so concerned with his height?! He had to wonder what she meant by "much worse," but kept his questions to himself. Eventually, the older man walked into the portocabin, throwing a salute Martin's way along with a smile.

 

"Ah, you must be the new driver Carolyn's hired. Welcome to our humble, ramshackle establishment. Carolyn, I trust you've told him how our little outfit works and who's in charge."

 

Carolyn merely rolled her eyes. "It's still not you, Biggles, the CAA would pitch a fit if they knew you were in the captain's seat again after your little run-in outside of Budapest, not to mention the incidents in Lima and Auckland. Meet your new new captain, Martin Crieff."

 

Martin watched as Douglas paused for a moment before calmly asking to see Carolyn privately in her office. He'd politely stepped out before things got heated, not wishing to intrude, but he could hear things like "he's just a kid" and "seven bloody goes" and bristled. Yet another person who didn't believe in him, great.

 

 

 

_"Woah, cool!"_

 

_"Wish I had them!"_

 

_His friends marveled at his wings every time he brought them out from his bindings. Not many friends, no, but those he had were some of the best he could ever have. They kept asking him to fly, but that was where he drew the line. He couldn't manage flight yet, for some reason, and every attempt had him end up with his face in the ground tasting dirt and grass._

 

_"C'mon, you gotta be able to fly with wings. They're not just there for show, my aunt can fly with hers."_

 

_Perhaps he could try it. He'd need to be high up, he knew starting from the ground wasn't a good idea. He climbed the playground equipment, looking warily at the pavement of the playground below. He hadn't tried flying on anything other than grass yet._

 

_"Yeah, guys, he's gonna fly!"_

 

_Inhale, exhale._

 

_He jumped, feeling his wings unfurl and flap once feebly but he knew he was too heavy for them yet, and soon enough his face connected with the pavement below. Unlike grass, predictably, his nose made a cracking sound and he cried out in pain as his nose started bleeding profusely. Around him, he could hear boos and groans of disappointment that hurt and cut him more than the pavement in his cheek, even though the jeering was muffled, almost as if he were hearing it through a tunnel._

 

_"Wow, he didn't even get anywhere! What a phony."_

 

_"Maybe they're fake wings. Maybe he doesn't have any powers after all."_

 

_"Come on, guys, let's go. My aunt can give us a better show with hers."_

 

_All he could hear was his own voice, begging them to come back and then the hitching sobs as the pain in his nose increased. His mum found him shortly after and helped him home, all fussing and worrying over his nose, but he was focused on nothing more than showing them he could do it._

 

_He would fly one day._

 

Arthur handed him his coffee with a lopsided smile, wincing a bit when he heard shouting that was certainly a bad sign. He hadn't seen Douglas having another outburst, though, so he figured everything would be okay.

 

"Don't worry, Skip...Douglas is like this with every new captain. He was captain once but now he's only allowed to be First Officer and he doesn't like that. He still likes to act like a captain, though. I see you two getting along great in future, so it'll be okay."

 

Martin pondered how Arthur had worded that statement. The premonitions didn't faze him, he knew plenty of people who had them in varying ways. He'd have to trust him on that one. No, what bothered Martin was how he'd phrased Douglas' status.  "Allowed? What happened?"

 

Arthur looked conflicted for a moment before shaking his head. "I'm not supposed to talk about it. Mum says Douglas would get mad if I told you. You...don't want to get him angry. It's kind of bad. It's why he's a First Officer and not a captain."

 

Sighing, Martin gave up asking. No one was forthcoming with information and yet there was so much he wasn't privy to aside from small comments made offhand. It was frankly frustrating, even though he knew these were personal matters he had no business knowing. He figured he'd learn soon enough. Instead of fuming, he went to go complete a faux walk-around. They may have been on standby that day but he wanted to get acquainted with the Lockheed he'd be piloting. It was quite an old model, surely no others were still in the air. This one looked like it shouldn't have been in the air, as well, but somehow it was still airworthy.

 

The handwritten notes on GERT-I's fire extinguisher and the hold door confused Martin further.

 

_"Arthur - DO NOT TOUCH. Remember Avery? We can't go back to Monaco for months now."_

 

  
_"Nothing other than personal luggage should be here, Douglas, especially kimonos. I still check occasionally."_  caught Martin's eye as he saw them. 

 

There was a faded section crossed out, which Martin struggled to read in the dim lighting supplied by his phone.

 

  
_"And do not keep people down here if you're angry, understand? I know how you hold your hands when you're stowing people in the hold, you don't need more blood on your hands, whether it be figuratively or literally."_   

 

MJN seemed slightly off-kilter, but what two-bit airline struggling to survive wouldn't be? Of course there'd be a few bumps in their travels. Still...people in the hold? The hold wasn't heated unless there were pets or other necessary things, but people weren't even supposed to be in the hold in the first place! And what about blood? Was his First Officer some kind of murderer? Too many questions and too few answers led to a blistering headache, so Martin held off on the rest of the fake walk-around.

 

He returned to the portocabin to work on preliminary paperwork, there wasn't much of GERT-I to look at, even for a connoisseur of aviation like him. It was to be a long and boring first day on the job, but the animated discussions helped lessen the tension Martin thought would be a mainstay for the first few weeks. Douglas had appeared to calm down, now looking less like than an angry grizzly ready to maul and more of a normal, if sarcastic and egotistical, First Officer. He was actually quite nice to chat with, and eventually they began a round of Minute Mysteries to pass the time. He couldn't help but notice how eerily still Douglas kept his hands unless he was writing or otherwise actively using them. Most people twitched their fingers or talked with their hands, but he kept his motionless in his lap or on his desk.

 

Martin soon learned that the oddness didn't end at fire extinguishers and kimonos. His own brand of oddness would soon join as he fidgeted uncomfortably, his wings itching to unfurl. He knew there were others who had them, but his weren't exactly conventional, as his were made out of air and nothing more. No feathers, bones, nothing. Pure atmosphere. His itch wasn't any different than those with special bindings to keep their solid wings in place. He still wanted to let his ethereal wings form and take off. He was actually really good at flying, though much better naturally than in an airplane, but at the same time, he loved to fly in whatever way he could.

 

After a while, he excused himself and stepped outside, finding a secluded spot on the airfield to stretch his wings and take flight. He hadn't in too long a time, not having any space to fly, laughing with happiness as he left the ground and rolled his shoulders.

 

In the portocabin, the three watched this curiously. Their newest pilot could fly in more ways than one, how odd. Somehow, though, the notion wasn't entirely unsurprising, a man with wings becoming a pilot.

 

"Brilliant!" Arthur exclaimed somewhat predictably. "How does he fly with those wings, though? Mike back in secondary school had wings, but his were with feathers and everything. How does that work?"

 

Douglas and Carolyn left the window for their work, not up for explaining the frankly inexplicable, but they'd occasionally watch Martin soar by, wondering just how long this man would stay with their little company, especially once he learned their secrets. Although the notion was quickly quashed, they hoped he would stay longer than anyone else had. This tiny man had promise, Carolyn figured, she knew he didn't have anywhere else to be.

 

Just another straggler in the world of aviation. Martin would fit in very well.

**Author's Note:**

> By the way, I used this to find their powers: http://powerlisting.wikia.com/. 
> 
> For Martin, I went with the obvious. I wanted to do something else, but in the end I figured there wasn't a better power for him than flight. I liked the idea of wings made of air, it seemed to make sense somehow. For Arthur and Carolyn, I decided to go with mental abilities, precognition and humanoid psychometry respectively. Carolyn can see people's pasts while Arthur can see their futures. Sort of a compliment, really, since they live together and work together. I figured those related to each other would have similar powers, which is why Hannah can bend and create fire. 
> 
> Douglas took some thinking and evolution. At first, I thought a simple power of persuasion combo similar to Gordon, but in the end I thought that would be a bit obvious. I turned to the physical and shied away from the stealth, thievery types and found bloodbending(Hemokinesis). I figured he manipulates people already(See Gdansk in general, though every episode has an example), bloodbending is a...not good way to do it, but effective. Really, I'll say I'm a die-hard A:TLA fan and The Puppetmaster is one of my favorite episodes, so I was pretty much drawing from that(Especially the full moon bit).
> 
> Also, I used to jump off of playground equipment all the time as a kid trying to fly, so I know Martin's pain. I wasn't the brightest kid, nor am I the brightest adult.


End file.
